


203 - It Will Never Work Out

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 20:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “van + reader had a cute relation but nothing "oficial” because they knew we would be gone for a long time // then maybe the boys touring around UK, van gets a weekend to visit hometown // van + reader have a super sweet weekend but still, they know they can’t be 2gether bc he will be gone soon (maybe she will move as well, to study, work, idk) // then this super emotional end because the girl is kinda emotional" from @ima-bottlegirl





	203 - It Will Never Work Out

Van watched the single tear slowly roll down the apple of your cheek and seep into the pillow your head was resting on. You watched your reflection in his crystal clear eyes. The air in your bedroom was stuffy. The door and windows hadn't been opened since Van arrived during the previous day's morning. Neither of you had got up for food, only venturing as far as the ensuite.

"We shouldn't keep doin' this if it's gonna upset you every time," he whispered, reaching out to fold hair behind your ear. You closed your eyes at the small touch. "We're not together because it hurt too much. This doesn't feel much better,"

"It is," you replied. 

"Is it? Still ends the same every time. Still you crying and me trying to make it better when we both know it can't. It's never gonna work."

It was easier to not reply. Acts of omission are better than proactive acts of addition. If you did nothing, said nothing, you didn't have to take responsibility for the pain you were inflicting on yourself and on him.

The relationship you and Van had was good when it was good, but that was only a small fraction of the time. For the rest, it just didn't exist. He was gone too much and because you felt everything so hard and so deep and so often, it wasn't enough. 

Still drawn to each other, whenever he was back home, you'd end up in your bed together, pretending for a couple of hours that nothing had altered. That you could stay young and in love and carefree. That the world wasn't changing and you weren't growing up and apart.

Every hour only served to rip open the old wounds, never letting them properly heal and never letting scar tissue form. Instead, you and Van would always be an open cut, raw and sometimes bleeding. Stitches nor staples would ever work. Every kiss, every touch, every look was just salt in the wound. 

"Y/N?"

"Please don't," you said, eyes still closed. "I know, okay? I know,"

"I just… I don't want to keep hurtin' you,"

"You're not. Just stay a little longer. Please?"

When Van didn't say anything you opened your eyes and watched him reposition himself under the blankets. He looked over at you and nodded.

"Yeah. Whatever you want."

Van said that a lot. He'd spent the weekend giving you whatever you wanted. Movie marathons, stupid filtered photos, linen forts, honey straight from the jar. Anything to keep you sated and giggling. By Sunday night it would always give way to the overwhelming feeling of dread. You choked on it, on the tension and the unresolved emotion.

You wriggled closer to Van, snuggling in under his arm. He drew circles on your bare shoulder as you sniffled your tears away.

"When do you leave again?" you asked.

Van sighed before answering. "Couple of weeks. Going to the U.S., then Australia,"

"Will you come see me first? Before you go?"

"Yeah… Yeah, love. Course I will."

He kissed the top of your head and held you tight. You fell asleep before him, like you always did, but you woke up first. In the morning you'd kiss and say goodbye and pretend that it all meant nothing, that it was all for fun. Door closed, alone again, you'd crumble to your knees and sob, the ache in your heart too big to contain. The love too much. The tragedy too real. Fucked up in the knowledge that you'd do it all again and again until Van said otherwise.


End file.
